


Without Words

by FalloutCowboy



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Drunkenness, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, I'm Sorry, Jealousy, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Self-Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-28 10:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15705615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalloutCowboy/pseuds/FalloutCowboy
Summary: It wasn't permanent, of course.Hancock couldn't kid himself on this fact, no matter how much he wanted to. He was a man of any talents, and ignoring certain facts when living in the wasteland was damn near a given. Ignore the radiation, ignore the danger, ignore the people out for themselves.Ignore the way Nate looks at you, because you know that he will find somebody better.





	Without Words

**Author's Note:**

> basically, whenever someone (me) fails the speech check and has to reload roughly twelve times

It wasn't permanent, of course.

Hancock couldn't kid himself on this fact, no matter how much he wanted to. He was a man of any talents, and ignoring certain facts when living in the wasteland was damn near a given. Ignore the radiation, ignore the danger, ignore the people out for themselves.

Ignore the way Nate looks at you, because you know that he will find somebody better.

Nate _has_ found people better. Good people that make more of a difference than Hancock knew he ever would, who Nate would fall for and change the world with, then retire to some quaint white picket fenced area and Hancock would be left alone. He was fine with that. He has come to expect this ending to his and Nate's companionship, however bitter he may resent it. It was damned typical of karma to fuck around with him on this scale; to have someone that finally made Hancock want to stop running, yet keep him at an unfathomable distance because Hancock knew his place in Nate's life wasn't as significant as Nate in his own. Regardless, he knew he wasn't exactly someone attractive to look at. There were countless normal looking people in the Commonwealth that were interested in Nate, and it was only a matter of time before he realised this.

Nate, however, didn't seem to get the memo. Every time his gaze lingered a bit too long, every time his eyes glanced down at Hancock's lips was the sweetest touch of agony. Time would freeze, and Hancock would wonder what it would be like, to finally close the distance and to be able to keep Nate with him. Thoughts like that were dangerous. Nate was - is - the best thing that's happened to him. If he were to jeopardize their relationship in any way, he wouldn't forgive himself. He couldn't lose Nate, so he opted for self preservation.

Though, on nights like these - resting after a long day of travelling, when the campfire was alive and Nate was sitting so close, near enough to have his arm brush against Handcock's as he talked - self preservation seemed like the stupidest idea in the world. His hand was right next to Nate's, yet he didn't move.

"What's going on?" Nate suddenly asked, voice soft. He had turned to face Hancock, so Hancock opted to stare at the flickering flames biting at stagnant air. He wanted to see Nate's eyes, but refrained from doing so. They were already a cherished weakness of his, and he didn't need the firelight shining across them to underline that fact.

"Not much, really. I ain't skipping out on you anytime soon, if that's what you mean." Hancock shrugged, and pretended not to notice Nate relax slightly besides him. Nate nudged him gently with his shoulder, a tiny grin fixed in place. Hancock pushed him back, just to see the look of mock offense Nate would send in return, bright eyes shining with mirth. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, one that Hancock found only happened when he was with Nate.

"You're just - quiet." Nate eventually stated, eyes still watching Hancock's face for his reactions. When Hancock merely glanced at him, Nate's eyes narrowed in a convincing facade of suspicion, though Hancock could see the way the corner of his lips quirked up. "I swear to god, if you've had Jet and haven't shared any-"

"Relax, I'd share if I had any. That's what friends are for, right?" Hancock shrugged, trying not to think bitterly about the word friend, because he was damn honored he could consider Nate a friend. 

"Friends." Nate repeated distantly, with a small frown. He bit down on his lip, a subconscious habit he had whenever he was putting great thought into something. Hancock traced the movement, before snapping his gaze to the fire and pretending he didn't notice anything. Nate shifted, suddenly seeming anxious. "Have you ever thought about being more than that?"

 _Almost every day_.

He couldn't say that to Nate. It was a survival mechanism that Wastelanders had to develop; protection. He couldn't afford to be close to Nate, only to have Nate back out, because that would damn near kill him. He couldn't deny it, either. Nate knew what his answer was going to be, regardless, and Hancock was above directly lying to someone close to him. He offered a small shrug. "Hey, you're travelling with me here. You know how I am. It's a given."

Nate blinked. He shifted again, staring at the fire with an unreadable expression. Hancock tried to ignore the uneasy disappointment that Nate was exerting, yet found that doing so was impossible. "Right."

"You okay?" Hancock asked, because as difficult as this was, it had to be done. In the long run, it would be good for him. It would spare him from hurt that would increase tenfold if Nate allowed Hancock to commit, only to leave. Short term, however, it hurt like hell.

Nate offered a wan smile, one that didn't reach his eyes, but was still genuine. He didn't look surprised, merely disappointed, but there was also a determined set to his jaw. "Of course, I'm just tired."

"Long day, huh." Hancock mused, glancing up at the sky, tinted with a greenish hue in the center, but stretching out to a dark navy color. The same color as Nate's eyes, a part of his mind unhelpfully pointed out.

"Always is." Nate's gaze lingered on Hancock, the kind of look that spoke of deep evaluation, one that Hancock sensed despite staring up at a still sky. "Goodnight, Hancock."

"Night." Hancock offered Nate a smile, and knew full well that Nate would be able to see right through, because Nate knew him better than anyone else. He tried not to think about what would have happened if he had given a different response. Nate could've been besides him, and he could've listened to Nate's heartbeat. Could've wasn't the same as reality, though, so he shook that thought from his head.

It was, after all, better for the both of them if Hancock didn't confess.

 

**

 

They weren't commited.

They weren't commited to eachother, so there was no reason that either of them wouldn't be able to flirt or show interest in someone else. At least, Hancock kept on trying to remind himself this, but seemed not to get the message.

They had travelled to _The Third_ _Rail_ , because Hancock liked the scene and Nate knew he preferred this bar to any others, even the ghoul-friendly ones.

Eyes followed them as they entered, but it only took a few minutes and the occasional pointed glare for everyone to go back and mind their business. It wasn't often he returned to Goodneighbor, so it would naturally garner interest if he visited.

Unfortunately, a man he didn't recognise didn't know when to leave well enough alone. At first, Hancock was able to ignore him. It was usual enough, casual flirting that led nowhere exchanged more often than a common greeting. However, this guy - _whoever the fuck he was_ \- wasn't letting up, insisting on buying Nate vodka despite the fact that Nate only drinks shitty, pre-war soda.

Nate seemed to like the attention.

He smiled, accepted the drink and hardly grimaced when drinking it. This only encouraged the man to place a hand against Nate's arm, heavy with suggestion. Nate didn't lean away from the touch.

Hancock adverted his eyes, holding back the growl he wanted to allow. His grip on his beer bottle tightened, shoulders bowstring tense. He wanted nothing more than to put his arm around Nate's waist, to get the other man to back _the fuck_ away.

Yet he couldn't, because Nate wasn't his, and he had _chosen_ this to be true. No matter how much he regretted it now, it had to happen, sooner rather than later.

Admittedly, _this soon_ hurt like hell. He ordered whiskey, one that was gone far quicker than its predecessor. He tried to ignore the innuendos that Nate seemed to miss, focusing on the pleasant burn of liquor. Nate had a significantly lower alcohol tolerance, and was already beginning to slur his words together. He paid for both his and Nate's bar tab, before standing up.

"Come on, let's go." Hancock muttered, hand resting against Nate's shoulder. Immediately, Nate beamed at him, leaning into his touch and resting his cheek against Hancock's chest. The man frowned at him, looking as though he was about to object, but Hancock glared at him, eyes narrowed.

"Taking me home?" Nate asked, words jumbled together so his sentence was near undistinguishable. His eyes were wide, the dim lights shining against his eyes. Hancock allowed himself a soft smile.

"Damn right." He agreed. Nate laughed, stumbling to stand up, grinning when Hancock gave a small huff of amusement and moved his hand so that it was resting against the small of Nate's back. At this, Nate's breath audibly hitched, and color rose to his cheeks.

"My hero." Nate whispered, shifting so that his hands were resting against Hancock's shoulders, eyes meeting Hancock's. Their chests were pressed flush against eachother, yet neither made any move to put some distance between them. His eyes darkened, gaze sliding down to glance at Hancock's lips, before meeting his eyes once more. The corner of Nate's lips quirked up into a knowing smile.

"You're going to have a fine hangover in the morning." Hancock replied, enjoying the feeling of Nate's body pressed close to his for a few seconds, before pulling away. Nate voiced a quiet protest, but gave a small, contented hum when Hancock kept one hand against his back, hardly noticing when they left The Third Rail. There was no way in hell they would attempt to leave Goodneighbor this late, so he opted to head to his old home.

"You're really pretty." Nate said quietly. His breath was hot against Hancock's jaw, almost making him stumble. Nate didn't notice his surprise, and continued to mutter words against Hancock's neck. When Hancock didn't reply, focused on opening a door, Nate made a small, discontented noise. He pressed a light kiss against Hancock's jaw.

Hancock froze, forgetting how to breathe for a second or so.

"Really pretty." Nate stated again. At the sound of Nate's voice, slightly slurred but quietly earnest, Hancock snapped out of his trance. It didn't mean anything. Nate was drunk to the point where he could barely stand straight. For a second, his resolute broke, and he shifted his palm so that it was resting against Nate's cheek, and imagined what it would be like to close the distance between them and not think about why he shouldn't. Nate's eyes were wide, pupils blown.

"Come on, let's get you inside." Hancock eventually moved back. Nate sighed, allowing him to distance himself, but took care to maintain contact as long as possible. He was led through to the nearest bedroom with no protest. Hancock removed the heavier parts of Nate's armor, trying not to think to strongly about what he was doing. Nate watched his hands move, a steady flush of color spreading across his cheeks. Hancock paused, glancing up from what he was doing to meet Nate's eyes. Nate kept his gaze directed to where Hancock's hands were, though the color against his cheeks darkened, indicating that he had noticed his stare. As smoothly as possible, he pushed against Nate's shoulder gently, until Nate was backed against his bed. Nate didn't react immediately, choosing to frown slightly, so Hancock increased the light pressure placed on his shoulders and Nate hesitantly sat down, eyes watching Hancock intently.

Damn if Nate didn't look inviting. Pupils blown, cheeks flushed, and staring up at him as though he was the only thing keeping him sane.

He adverted his gaze. Nate was drunk. At that point, he knew that it didn't matter who he was, just that he was available. The thought hurt, but he ignored it. Nate's breathing quickly evened, his inhebriated state allowing him to sleep. Hancock left him there, gently closing over the door, and wondering if there was any whiskey left in his office.

(There wasn't.)

 

**

 

"I'm dying." Nate announced, and this promptly indicated his awakened state. It was always amusing to watch Nate develop an acute flare for the dramatics when recovering from a night of drinking, even if it meant Nate would temporarily refuse to move for a handful of hours. "Call the priest. This is how I die."

"Morning, sunshine." Hancock replied with a smirk, not even trying to suppress the grin at the dark glower Nate sent him. Nate sighed heavily, shifting to fully face Hancock. He merely shrugged in response "You're not religious." 

"Such sympathy." Nate sighed, sounding almost mournful as he spoke. He moved his hand so it rested against his heart,. Hancock rolled his eyes, and patted Nate's shoulder in mock pity.

"So, when are we going?" Hancock inquired, just to see Nate send a scowl in response. Nate huffed loudly, shifting so that he was huddled closer to himself. Hancock tried not to think about how Nate looked like this was routine, for him to wake up in Hancock's bed.

"Let me live." Nate complained, closing his eyes to underline his point, throwing an arm over his face. "Or, more importantly, let me sleep."

 

**

 

It took roughly five hours for Nate to recover this time, but Hancock was fine with that. Especially when there was a reputable chems dealer a stone's throw away, and he needed last night from his memory. He had slipped up too many times - he had stayed when he should've left, he had been far closer to Nate than could even be considered platonic. He was fortunate Nate was as drunk as he was, otherwise he would be forced to answer a lot of questions.

When high, it was easier to deal with emotions, because they weren't as complex. He would either have a good trip or a bad trip, and this time it fell on the former side. Unfortunately, Mentats don't last long, and he had a decent three hours of feeling slightly smarter before sobering up in a record thirty minutes.

Which left him where he was now. Walking through a long, uneven stretch of crumbling concrete road by Nate's side. He was content with his. Being besides Nate felt right, and he wouldn't change it.

They walked in amiable quiet, save from the music that was played from Nate's Pip-Boy. Occasionally, the odd group of raiders passed and were promptly taken care of without too much trouble. It was a comfortable routine and once again Hancock was stuck with the idea of how lucky he was. Being Nate's companion was rare enough, but being considered a friend was next to unheard of.

"Caravan, up ahead." Nate informed him, before holstering his gun. Hancock gave a noncommittal shrug, copying Nate's movement and walking in step with Nate as they approached.

"Finally selling all of the shit you insist on carrying 'round?" Hancock asked, glancing significantly at the three pistols stowed in his coat pocket. Nate gave a defensive murmur, but didn't contradict him. The trader was new; some hotshot ex-merc that reckoned he was able to make it out there without splitting the spoils with his team. Hancock didn't mind him too badly - sure, he was a walking hazard, but Nate wasn't being bothered by him, so Hancock merely looked as threatening as possible.

Nate and the trader began to barter - it seemed that the trader was fighting a loosing battle. Business must've been slow recently, as it seemed he could only afford two guards instead of the customary three. That, or he was arrogant. Judging by the precocious, holier-than-thou nature of his stance, Hancock opted for the latter idea. The caravan guards were both watching the exchange between the bartering with mild interest. Both, surprisingly, were ghouls. Hancock supposed it was because they were considered more expendable, but he couldn't blame the pair for taking a shit job when given the chance.

"Your buddy, he carries around a lotta pistols." The nearest guard said, the corners of his lips quirked up in amusement. Hancock grinned, watching Nate with something akin to fondness.

"You ain't seen the half of it." He replied, lifting his gaze from Nate and up to the guard. As per usual of a caravan guard, he was equipped with a rather shitty shotgun and armor that looked as though it was one good hit from falling apart. "Wanna know how many gas canisters he drags around?"

"Don't think I do." The caravan guard grinned toothily, though it looked as though doing this slightly pained him. He stuck out his hand in formal greeting, the nonverbal request for a handshake. "The name's Minnow."

"Minnow?" Hancock repeated, and Minnow nodded in return. He offered a grin of his own, though he glanced to check up on Nate, and make sure the deal was still running smoothly, then accepted Minnow's handshake. "Hancock."

Minnow's eyebrows would have raised if he had any, but the emotion was still conveyed through slightly widened eyes and a low whistle. "Damn. You the mayor of Goodneighbor?"

"We have a complicated relationship." Hancock shrugged, uncaring. It was true enough. Goodneighbor meant that he was making a difference, however minor, but damn if it didn't tire him in payment.

Minnow gave a small, hoarse laugh. "Don't we all?" A second or so after that sentence was spoken, the caravan guard on the other side of the brahmin shifted, which drew his attention to a near-finished transaction between Nate and a realatively miffed looking trader. Hancock supposed it was the traders own fault - trying to sell shit guns to make a living was understandable, but still a dick move. Trying to sell a shit gun to someone who, judging by the copious amounts of weaponry he insisted on carrying around, knew a lot about guns, was just plain stupid. Minnow tilted his head in consideration. "I'm heading by Goodneighbor for a while, if you want to visit the homestead at some point."

Hancock huffed with slight amusement, before mimicking Minnow's look of consideration. They both knew he wouldn't return to Goodneighbor for a while, and they weren't going to meet again, but it was fun to forge a flickering friendship once and a while. "I'm sure I will, if there's company available."

"Any time." Minnow grinned again, still looking a bit uncomfortable at the way his muscles worked. New to ghoulification, then, but didn't give a damn what he - or anyone else - looked like. Hancock could respect that. With the transaction finally complete, and the polite, if a little awkward, wave of parting to an acquaintance, he and Nate were back on the road. It was almost always just them, walking together, and Hancock was content with their relationship, even if a frustratingly loud part of him wanted more.

"He seemed friendly." Nate observed, tone purposefully light. Hancock shrugged, picking up on Nate's tension, but being unable to place it.

"I think he isn't interested in friendship." Hancock replied, watching carefully for Nate's reaction. Nate's shoulders tensed, just slightly, before he forced his posture to change into a far more neutral stance.

"Yeah, I guessed." Nate stated, though his words were free of accusation despite his obvious discontentment.

"What's up, huh?" Hancock asked, nudging Nate a little with his shoulder. This had the desired effect; Nate gave him a soft smile, and nudged him back. Hancock ignored the affectionate note that had began to sound when Nate looked at him, because it was easier to ignore.

"I miss my pistols." Nate sighed, trying to look slightly mournful, though his grin could be considered a giveaway. "I've named them, you know."

"Don't doubt you." Hancock retorted, allowing himself to relax with the familiarity of Nate besides him, and the long sprawl of road ahead.

 

**

 

Then, Nate got drunk.

Hancock had no idea why Nate - drinking extraordinare and pioneer of all things inebriating - was able to get wasted so quickly, and at such a late time. Normally, Hancock would be able to applaud Nate's efforts, but currently, he was trying to fend off Nate from getting too close to him. He tried not to think about the fact that if Nate was sober, there would be no resistance whatsoever.

"Do - do you think I'm brave?" Nate slurred, words jumbling together and sounding damn near incomprehensible to the point where Hancock was able to pick up on the end of words, and the rest was guesswork and an experience of dealing with both drunk and high Nate.

"Of course." Hancock replied, and pretending he wasn't smiling at Nate's awestruck expression at his words. Even if he was sat down, he would still away slightly, and damn if it wasn't endearing.

"Then why do I have to get - drunker to be this close to you?" Nate frowned, tilting his head like a confused puppy, and looking at Hancock as though he was able to provide answers to his questioning. Hancock supposed that what Nate had said was true enough; Hancock found that drinking calmed his nerves of fucking something up whilst talking to Nate, even if _he_ was able to recognise it was an unhealthy coping strategy.

"You're making no sense." Hancock smiled slightly at Nate's confused frown, as though Hancock was beyond any comprehension, and he had no idea what Hancock meant, though he wanted to understand.

"Sense is overrated." Nate offered, slightly unsure. Yet again, Nate was in his bed (the idea of this was enough to make him dizzy), with a small, slight smile.

"Talk to me when you're sober." Hancock retorted, grinning at the small frown he received in return. Nate looked as though he was about to protest, but thought better of it, instead opting to sit up.

"If I'm sober, will you do something for me?" Nate asked, eyes softened and earnest. Unfortunately, whenever Nate would ask for anything like this, Hancock was immediately at a major disadvantage.

"Ask away." Hancock shrugged, pausing for a decent two seconds, instead of the immediate response of _yes_ , as though he could ever say no to Nate.

"Kiss me." Nate said quietly, causing Hancock to freeze completely, eyes wide. Nate didn't notice his shock, opting to shift so that he faced the ceiling. "Sober me isn't brave enough."

 

**

 

The next morning, Hancock awoke to a less-than-elegant list of curse words that would make a sailor blush. This, of course, was an indicator that Nate was awake and hung over, or Nate was awake and had discovered a particularly large insect.

"Morning, Princess." Hancock called back in response, the corners of his lips twitching upwards slightly when Nate immediately paused in cussing out the entire world, or what was left of it. There was the sound of shuffling, then Nate appeared, looking absolutely exhausted but surprisingly well rested for a hungover person.

"Kill me now." Nate scowled at the wall, blearily raking a hand through his hair. Hancock traced the movement with a small smile.

"Lovely morning, huh?" Hancock offered, leaning back so that Nate could see the smirk he had opted to wear. In response, Nate glared, flipping him off with a rather offensive hand gesture. Hancock grinned again, shifting so that he could begin to walk towards the nearest exit to the commonwealth and locate something for Nate - preserved aspirin was his most likely option.

"Hancock?" Nate inquired before Hancock was able to leave the room. His voice sounded deeply unsure, as though he wasn't quite sure what was happening, either.

"What's up?" Hancock asked, before glancing up at the ceiling and mentally adding, the ceiling is up. Nate seemed to have a similar line of thinking, as he looked upwards, before meeting Hancock's stare.

"I don't mind." Nate paused. "If you kissed me, as in."

Hancock paused. He wanted to, more than anything, he wanted to be able to call Nate his own, and Nate know that Hancock was his. He wanted someone to stand besides him through the harshness of the Commonwealth, and at that moment, he knew that Nate was the best thing he's got. He didn't want to think about what would happen if Nate got bored of him, because thinking for the future rarely changed or or helped things.

Living in the present was far more comfortable.

He was damned anyway, he might as well have fun whilst he has a beating heart. "We'll talk about it later, when you're less pissy."

Nate frowned. "But-"

Hancock pressed a quick, warm kiss against Nate's lips, enjoying the audible hitch in Nate's breath, or the way that Nate immediately placed his hands against Hancock's shoulders. He smiled softly at Nate, and when he spoke, it was with promise. "Later."

**Author's Note:**

> I am many years late to this fandom but idec
> 
> I am a fool.  
> I put the wrong fandom down ;-;


End file.
